


part of the magic

by polkadot



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 11:43:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1856832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polkadot/pseuds/polkadot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stan really wants Magnus as his coach, and he has an ace up his sleeve.</p><p>(Written for the kink meme, which asked for Magnus/Stan.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	part of the magic

“I really want you as my coach,” Stan says, his fingers twitching restlessly on the handle of his coffee cup.

Magnus leans back in his chair. “So you and Lawrence have been telling me on the phone. At length. For the last six months.”

“I just,” Stan says. “I just really want you. I think we could be good together.”

~

They’re watching their players attempt to be a doubles team. It’s low-stakes, an opportunity to get some extra grass-court practice in before Wimbledon, and neither he nor Rasheed is too worked up about the result. 

“So,” Rasheed says, “I thought you’d decided to retire from one-on-one coaching. Didn’t want to travel, wanted to spend more time with your girls, run the Academy.”

Magnus looks over at where Stan is chasing a wide shot and attempting not to slip on the grass. “Yeah, that was the plan.”

He can feel Rasheed’s eyes on the back of his neck. “What changed?”

He shrugs. “Can’t argue with the results. We make a good team.”

“No one’s disputing that,” Rasheed says. 

~

“I know you’ve been approached by several players already,” Stan says. “I’m only surprised everyone isn’t trying to get you, after what you did with Soderling.”

Magnus smiles. “I’m flattered. But I’m pretty settled now.”

“I could make it worth your while,” Stan says, steadily, and the clink of his coffee cup in its saucer suddenly sounds very loud. 

Magnus looks at the table, but there’s no clue in the polished hotel sheen. “Thanks, but the Academy’s doing pretty well now, and I’ve still got a bit put away from the tour…”

“That’s not what I meant,” Stan says. 

Magnus waits. He’s not a man of many words. Stan will clarify in his own time.

Stan bites his lip. “I talked to someone.”

“You talked to someone,” Magnus repeats, when Stan doesn’t go on.

“And I could make it worth your while,” Stan says again, swallows, and slides out of his chair to his knees.

~

“I’m enjoying coaching again,” Magnus tells Rasheed, watching Grigor and Stan laughing together after a good rally. “It’s satisfying. And we’ve worked out a schedule so I can get home to the girls on a regular basis.”

“I just wondered what changed your mind, that’s all,” Rasheed says. “You seemed pretty sure about being done with coaching for a while, and then Stan got you to come back. And he wasn’t a Grand Slam champion back then, he was just a top-30 player with a good upside but a fragile brain.”

Magnus watches Stan grin at Grigor, the wide grin that transforms his face into impish attractiveness, the kind of mobile face that draws you in. “He’s very persuasive.”

~

“He promised he wouldn’t say anything,” Magnus says, feeling his eyes widen.

Stan smiles, and his teeth show. “He let it slip in a moment of weakness.” He comes closer, sliding his knees across the carpet. “You think you two are the only players to… indulge?”

“You want me to coach you in return for blowjobs?” Magnus says, just to be clear, because being clear is important.

“I’m good,” Stan says, and his tongue darts out, slow and filthy. 

It’s cheesy, but it also goes straight to Magnus’s groin, and god, his dick hasn’t forgotten this a bit. “Christ,” he says, his voice already ragged in his ears. 

“I can prove it to you,” Stan says, steadily – then, looking up through his lashes, and that should be illegal, completely and utterly illegal – “I _want_ to prove it to you.”

When Stan puts his hands on Magnus’s knees, gently pushing them outwards, Magnus lets them fall apart helplessly, because Stan on his knees is something nobody could resist, and Magnus is only human.

Stan’s mouth is as filthy on his dick as he could ever have imagined. 

“Try before you buy,” Stan says, grinning up at him, and guides Magnus’s hand to his hair.

~

“Saw you talking to Rasheed,” Stan says, back in the house they’ve rented for the grasscourt swing.

Magnus smiles, swirling his wine around his glass. “He wanted to know why I decided to coach you.”

Stan stops stirring the pasta for a second and looks over his shoulder. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him you suck the best dick of anyone I know,” Magnus says, letting the words drag across his tongue.

Stan laughs. “It’s true, though.”

“Because most people I know don’t suck my dick,” Magnus retorts.

“Yes, well,” Stan says, and smiles at him, his eyes lighting up, “I’m just special that way.”

“Shut up and cook the food,” Magnus says.

~

“Fine,” Magnus says, when he comes down from the afterglow. Somehow, he’s ended up on the floor, with his trousers around his ankles, Stan’s arm thrown proprietarily over his stomach, and the man himself hiding a grin against the inside of Magnus’s thigh. “You’ve succeeded in raising my interest.”

“I think I raised it and then took care of it,” Stan says, looking far too pleased with himself.

“If only you played tennis as well as you do that,” Magnus says, thoughtfully.

Stan gets to his feet, easy comfortable movement. “Well,” he says, and reaches a hand down to pull Magnus up, “that would be your job.”

“And sucking my dick would be yours?”

“Sounds fair to me,” Stan says, his eyes laughing. “We’ll make a great team.”

~

When Stan wins the Australian Open, Magnus waits until they get back to the hotel room before pushing him against the door and saying roughly, “My turn.”

~

“Well,” Rasheed says, “however he convinced you, it’s worked out great.”

Magnus watches Stan getting ready to receive serve, his body poised and prepared. The dry amusement that radiates out of him in everyday life is damped down, everything focused on the task at hand: the ball about to rocket at him, the slippery grass underfoot, the racquet in his hand, the doubles partner by his side. He’s in his element, and Magnus has helped him. 

And if their partnership has yielded not only trophies and glory, but regular fantastic sex, who’s to say that’s not part of the magic?

“Yes,” Magnus says, and suppresses a smile with an effort, hiding behind his sunglasses. “We make a good team.”

~


End file.
